Knight's Shadow (48 page)

Chapter Forty-Four

Castle Aramor

We stared in horror at the carnage staining the green grass of Castle Aramor below. The dead lay sprawled around the field, the wreckage of their bodies partially covered by their long leather coats, looking like derelict ships filling a harbour after a storm. The wind picked up and the coats flapped in the wind and the smells of blood and death and great fear rose up to us.

Further along the gauntlet I saw row upon row of mounted Knights. There were too many to count, but they numbered perhaps close to a thousand. They sat on their horses as if preparing for a parade. Some were armed with warswords, some with lances, but they all wore black tabards.

Valiana turned to me. ‘I don’t understand . . . they’re all dead. How could they—?’

‘The Dashini are killers,’ Dariana said. ‘We fight in the shadows, in dark alleyways and narrow streets. We fight with stealth and speed, not the brute force of a cavalry charge on an open battlefield.’

‘Then why—? Why would the Tailor try to fight here?’

‘Because we had no choice,’ a woman’s voice said.

The Tailor stumbled out from the copse of trees, her own leather coat covered in blood. She held a broken sword with one hand and pressed a dark red cloth to her side with the other. Her grey hair was flying wild in the wind; her face showed the bruising and cuts of battle. She took two steps towards us and began to topple, but Kest reached her in time and took hold of her shoulders.

‘Just help me sit down,’ she said, tossing the sword away.

Kest helped her as she sat heavily on the grass, then he knelt down to examine the wound in her side.

‘It’s nothing,’ she said, pushing him away. ‘I got nicked by the tip of a Knight’s lance when my horse went out from under me. Most of the blood isn’t mine.’ She looked up at me. ‘I see you survived the Lament. Must be pleased with yourself.’

For just a moment I was back there, tied to that post, with Heryn holding a needle and saying, ‘
Shall we proceed?
’ It took every ounce of self-control not to stab the Tailor in the throat with one of my rapiers.

She laughed. ‘Ah, Falcio. Look at that face of yours. So much righteous indignation. Well? Come on then. I failed. My Greatcoats are all dead down there. If you’re planning to kill me, now would be a good time.’

‘How?’

‘What do I care? A thrust to the heart would be humane, but at this point you could carve me into pieces and turn me into stew and I’d be grateful.’

‘No,’ I said, ‘how did
this
happen?’

‘We came to fight the Dukes and their retainers and a few personal guards. We expected a hundred men and instead we found a thousand.’ She waved a hand out at the wide-open space below us. ‘Instead we got that.’

‘Where’s Aline?’ Valiana asked. ‘Is she—?’

‘Captured,’ the Tailor said.

‘We’ve got to—’

‘Keep your sword in its sheath, girly. There’s nothing you can do. They won’t kill her, not now, not with a Ducal Concord in session. They’ll just make her renounce her claim to the throne – she’ll be no threat to them then.’ The Tailor looked at me. ‘Aline’s life is all that’s left to fight for now. You’re going to go down there, First Cantor, and you’re going to beg Jillard to let you take Aline away from here. Promise to take her out of the country, if that helps. You saved his life. Maybe some small good can come from your betrayal.’

Valiana began to draw her sword again, this time for me, but I reached over and put my hand on hers. ‘Stop. It doesn’t matter.’

‘I’m not going to let her accuse you of treason, not after what she’s done to all of us!’

I looked at the old woman with her iron-grey hair and eyes as hard as steel, her skin like leather and a tongue as sharp as a needle. I had loved her once, I realised, back in those early days with King Paelis. She’d been like one of those sages in the stories, the one who guides the hero to some secret magic that will save the day, only with more swearing and insults. I so wished she really was that foul-mouthed sage I’d believed her to be – or if not, then at least the exact opposite, the vile traitor who seeks the hero’s destruction from the darkness. But it’d taken me a long time to see that she was neither; she was just a mother who had lost her son and a grandmother about to lose her granddaughter. She was brilliant and powerful and devious and cold, but she was human and every bit as flawed and broken as the country that had spawned her.

‘The Tailor’s right,’ I said. ‘All that’s left now is to get Aline her life, if we can.’

‘What’s the plan?’ Kest asked.

‘No plan,’ I said. ‘You take the others and get out of here. I’ll go and see what kind of deal I can make.’

‘They have Aline – what have you to trade?’

I knelt down and picked up the sword the Tailor had tossed on the ground. ‘Whatever I have to offer that they want.’ I stared at the sword’s wide steel blade, broken less than a foot from the hilt. Such a simple thing, and yet capable of so much destruction. Rolled steel, tempered in a fire, beaten with a hammer until it held onto all the violence of its birth, waiting to unleash it on human flesh. I wondered if blacksmiths ever felt regret as they finished their work and stamped their mark on the sword. I held the one in my hand up to the light. The maker’s mark was a simple circle with a cross inside and three dots spread out above, like a crown. Did the man who made this sword have any idea how much chaos he brought into the world?

I looked at the maker’s mark again. It felt familiar, somehow.

Oh, hells . . .

I stepped back so quickly I nearly fell into Kest.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

‘The swords,’ I said, ‘the steel weapons in Carefal.’ I went over to the Tailor. ‘You gave the villagers those weapons.’

‘Of course, and you already know why, so don’t—’

‘No, I mean,
after
we confiscated them – after Duke Isault’s men bought them and took them away – did you go back and give them more?’

‘I already told you I didn’t. How could I, you fool? I’m not made of gold. I had to spread my resources amongst all nine duchies.’

I turned to Valiana. ‘Give me your sword – the one you picked up in Carefal after the massacre.’

‘Why—?’

‘Just give it to me.’

She drew the blade and handed it to me. I held it up next to the Tailor’s broken blade.

‘What is it?’ Kest asked.

I flipped the blades around and held them up for him.

Kest leaned in and inspected the blades where they met the hilt. Both had the same maker’s mark cut into the blade: a cross inside a circle with three small dots above it.

‘They have the same maker’s mark – but that means the swords the villagers had the second time—’

‘—were the same ones we confiscated,’ I agreed.

‘But wouldn’t that mean—?’

‘Shuran,’ I said. ‘The Knight-Commander of Aramor had someone give those very same weapons back to the villagers in Carefal.’

‘But why?’

‘So he could create fear among the nobles. Think. What’s the one thing everyone has in common right now – the Dukes, the peasants, everyone . . .?’

‘They’re afraid,’ Dariana said.

‘Not even just afraid: they’re
terrified
: noble families are being murdered in their beds, villagers are rebelling, Knights in black tabards are running around massacring people. And what does everyone want when they’re afraid?’

‘A protector: someone who will keep them safe,’ she replied.

‘And who better than a loyal Knight of Tristia to be their protector?’ said a voice behind us, and I turned to see Sir Shuran, Knight-Commander of Aramor, walking up to us from where we’d left our horses. ‘You know, I told my men there was an old woman among the assassins and they didn’t believe me. And yet here I find you, madam, sitting on this little hill as if you were about to have a picnic.’

The Tailor rose to her feet and put a hand out to grab Dariana’s arm. ‘Kill him,’ she said. ‘Kill him now.’

‘That would be a terrible idea,’ Shuran said. ‘For one thing, if you look down there – at the bottom of the hill – yes, right there – you’ll see I’ve brought my own friends with me so we can have a little picnic as well.’

When I looked down below as bidden I saw twenty men on horseback coming up the path towards Shuran.

‘We also have a little girl back at the castle who is very afraid right now; I expect she would probably like to see some friendly faces – let’s all go down and get better acquainted, shall we?’

‘I’ll come with you,’ I said. ‘The others go free.’ Of course I didn’t expect a positive response, but I wanted to keep him talking while I tried to figure out a way around him and his men.

‘I don’t think the Dukes would appreciate me letting them go, Falcio.’ Shuran smiled. ‘On the other hand, what do I care about the Dukes and their wishes?’

I was stunned. ‘You’ll let the others leave unharmed?’

Shuran reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. ‘I hold no ill will towards you, Falcio.’ He looked at the others. ‘Nor to any of you. Although I can’t very well let the old woman go. My apologies, madam, but assassinating Ducal families is generally frowned upon. We’ll find you a nice comfortable cell while we work things out.’

‘Take the deal,’ the Tailor said to me.

‘Go,’ I told the others. ‘Get on the horses and go now.’

Valiana started to object. ‘We can’t leave—’

‘For once, please, will you do as I ask and just go?’

I felt Shuran’s fingers squeeze into my shoulder. ‘I do have one favour to ask in return.’

‘What is it?’

‘Oh, not from you, Falcio.’ He released my shoulder and turned to Kest. ‘I want the Saint of Swords to finally favour me with that bout.’

*

Shuran and his men escorted Kest, the Tailor and me down the hill and made us march through the dozens of dead Unblooded Dashini in their torn leather coats sprawled across the churned-up green gauntlet. After the King had died, Castle Aramor had been closed, by order of the Ducal Concord. It had been empty for more than five years. The grasses had grown and weeds had begun to take over, but now I could see that someone had taken the time to trim the grass in a patch in front of the castle and had set out chairs and a large white table. The Dukes might be facing the worst crisis to afflict Tristia in a hundred years, but it was nonetheless vital to ensure a pleasant environment for their deliberations. Several of them were sitting around the table, sipping wine from delicate glasses decorated with golden swans that I recognised; they were from King Paelis’ own collection.

Three of them stood as they saw us approach, no doubt uncomfortable to see more Greatcoats.

Duke Jillard was the first to step forward. ‘You look a little the worse for wear since last I saw you, Falcio.’

‘The result of an unfortunate misunderstanding, your Grace. You, on the other hand, look much improved since my last visit to Rijou.’

‘Quite. That Dashini dust really is a terror, though.’ He looked at me and then at Shuran’s Knights behind us. ‘I do hope you didn’t come here to try to assassinate me, Falcio. It hardly seems appropriate, not given how hard you worked to keep me alive.’

‘I was hoping you might return the favour.’

Jillard smiled. ‘I rather thought you were. Very well. Shuran? Let the two men go. The woman stays, of course.’ He turned as if the conversation were over.

‘I want Aline,’ I said, ‘alive and unharmed. And I want oaths from you and your fellow Dukes that you will leave her to live in peace.’

He held out his goblet as if expecting wine to fall from the sky. Weirdly, it did – well, all right, one of the servants immediately rushed forward to refill it, but the effect was the same. ‘Really, Falcio? I gave you your life, so our debt is paid. Why would I also give you the girl?’

‘I’ll get her to renounce her claim to the throne.’

‘She’ll do that anyway. Give me something else.’

The other Dukes were looking at us as if we were unsightly weeds growing in their garden. The very last thing I wanted to do was save their lives: they had set Tristia on this path when they had killed the King five years ago and now they wanted me to barter for the life of his daughter. Ethalia was wrong: love
is
a cage.

‘I’ll give you your lives,’ I said at last. ‘Or at least, I’ll try my very best to do so.’

Jillard raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you threatening to kill us, Falcio? Because I am pretty sure that Sir Shuran and his thousand Knights will be able to protect us. I feel quite safe in their presence.’

‘Then you are shortsighted, your Grace. Sir Shuran is the one planning to kill you.’

The assembled Dukes and their retainers laughed heartily at that.

Jillard set his goblet down on the table. ‘You do realise you’re accusing the Knight-Commander of Aramor? The very man whose forces saved us from being assassinated just a few hours ago?’

‘And also – and I’m taking a wild guess here – the man you’re about to elevate to the rank of Realm’s Protector?’

Jillard’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but I went on, ‘You’re going to put the rest of the Ducal armies under his command and send him north to destroy Trin’s forces. He’s an able commander, and the most respected Knight in the country. He’ll tear her soldiers apart, always assuming they don’t immediately abandon her when they see him and his Knights coming.’

‘And when he does,’ Jillard said, his eyes on Shuran, ‘he will help us set the rest of the country to rights, and then step down from his post.’

‘Somehow I doubt that,’ I said. ‘Shuran is the one who’s been both arming villages against your duchies and then sending out the Black Tabards to massacre them. He orchestrated the fear of rebellion so you’d need to turn to the Knights – many of whom he’s already bought off with not inconsiderable sums, and the rest of whom . . . well, forgive me your Graces, and I’d like to say it hurts me to say this . . . but the rest of whom respect him more than you anyway. It was Shuran who had Duke Isault’s children murdered, and he who ensured the other Dukes’ families would die.’